South of Surrender (Hearts of the Anemoi) (6 page)

“You completely rock at grilled cheese.”

He laughed. “I completely rock, period.”

Shaking her head and grinning, she devoured the rest of her sandwich. After a lifetime of shared meals, the silence was comfortable, familiar. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said.

“Yeah.” The air in the room shifted, felt awkward and tense. “Laney…”

She looked toward him and concentrated her narrow vision on him. The details of his face weren’t as clear at this distance. He rubbed his forehead. “What’s the matter?”

His head bowed and his shoulders slumped. “I’m just so damn sorry I wasn’t here for you.”

“You
were
here for me. Still are. If it wasn’t for you, I’d still be sitting out in the barn.” She forced a playfulness into her words to reassure him and lighten the suddenly serious conversation.

“I know you don’t want to hear this, but maybe you shouldn’t—”

“Wait.” She knew where this conversation was going, and she couldn’t handle it right now. Not when she was flat on her back for the next few days. “I know what you’re going to say, and you’re wrong. I know I wasn’t smart in checking out the barn last night, but I’m perfectly competent at taking care of myself on a day-to-day basis. And you know it.”

Tension filled the air for a long moment, and then he sighed. “I know. I just…I really hate that you’re hurt.”

“Me, too, and I appreciate that. But of all people, I need your support in this.” With her grandfather gone, Seth was
the
person who knew her best in the world. His opinion mattered to her. A lot. “Besides, you’re here.”

“I am. And I promised your pop I’d watch out for you.” He sighed, and Laney swallowed around the lump that formed in her throat. Seth had been close with her grandfather, too. “Okay, I’ll drop it,” he said, though his tone wasn’t entirely convinced. He collected her plate. “Want that second sandwich?”

“Maybe later.”

“All right. I’m going to go check out the barn and see what kind of damage we’re talking about. Then I’ll look into getting a contractor out to look at it.”

“Thanks. I can help make some of those calls tomorrow.”

“Here,” he said from next to her. “Hold out your hand.” He dropped a pill into her palm. “Just concentrate on getting better. Okay?”

Laney took the painkiller without throwing a fuss about it. Her cooperation would ease his concern. She hoped.

“I’ll be back in a bit.”

She nodded and laid her head back against the pillow. Between sleeping on the floor last night and the stress of her injuries, exhaustion weighed on her like a lead blanket. When she closed her eyes, though, all she could see were two competing images—of a winged horse and a golden-haired man. With really nice shoulders. Limited as her version was, she’d apparently made note of every sculpted detail of that part of his anatomy.

Seth came back through the door. Laney startled out of whatever hazy dream-state she’d been in. She had no idea how much time might’ve passed, or if she’d really been asleep at all.
Must be some good drugs.

“I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

“No,” she said, her voice groggy. “What’s up?”

“Well, it’s not pretty, but the barn’s still structurally sound. Shouldn’t be too big of a job.”

“That’s good.”

“Shame about the oak tree, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“Looks like lightning split it in half. That’s what came down on the roof.”

Laney frowned and fought the sensation of the room spinning. “The oak tree?”

“Didn’t you see the huge branches sticking in through the roof?”

Branches…?
Her scalp prickled. “Uh, no, no, but, uh…” She struggled to swallow and fought back the words
What branches? There weren’t any branches!
Just like there wasn’t a winged horse. Or a golden-haired man.

What the hell was happening to her?

Chapter Six

Aw damn, so warm.

Chrysander burrowed into the soft body in front of him, arm coming tight around her waist, face pressing into miles of silky hair. His lips found her neck and then he was kissing her, tasting her, drawing her warmth inside himself.

More.

She turned over, bringing her lips in line with his. Her soft skin skated over his, and that small touch electrified him. Chrys slanted his mouth over hers, sucking and teasing her full lips. She moaned low in her throat and he pressed in, his tongue demanding entrance, his chest grazing hers. Her lips parted, and he plunged forward, exploring and invading every part of her sweet mouth. Her heat poured into him, making him ravenous for her.

Her hands came up to surround him.

He pulled back. Control. He needed control. “No. Above your head.”

Dark blue eyes on fire, she obeyed. He grasped her wrists with his hand, then brought himself atop her.

Gods. He covered her from lips to ankles, and she was soft everywhere he was hard. And so warm.

His hips settled into the cradle of her thighs and there, there she was on fire.

He willed the clothing off her body, and the wet heat of her center might’ve scorched him if he didn’t find the sensation so life-giving.

Shouting. From a distance.

Chrysander frowned. He mentally shrugged, hanging on to her heat, her body. In her. Gods, he had to get in her.

The shouting returned. Louder now. Urgent.

He looked away from the woman writhing beneath him. Where the hell was he?

He lifted himself off her. Agony tore through his shoulder…

Chrys groaned as his eyes blinked open.
Fucking hell, just a dream
. How he thought otherwise, he didn’t know. He never lay with a woman in that position.

He pushed upright. How long had he been asleep? And who in the name of Zeus was making all that racket?

One thing was for sure, his shoulder didn’t feel any better than it had when he laid down, which argued that he hadn’t been asleep nearly long enough. He looked down at his chest and abdomen, still a minefield of fresh purple and older, sickly yellow bruises. Examining his left arm, he found the same grizzly slash.

I’m gonna knock some fucking heads together
.

He pushed off the cushioned altar. His feet hit the ground and his knees went soft. Bracing against the marble, he steadied himself and willed the vertigo away. The room spun, making the enormous floor mosaic of the compass rose seem alive.

Yeah, I’m gonna knock some heads together, all right. As soon as I’m sure I’m not gonna puke all over the place
.

As he concentrated on breathing away the nausea, the voices that had awakened him became clearer. Zeph.
Aw, sonofabitch.
Of all the fucking gods. Z couldn’t see these wounds or he’d know, immediately, what had made them. After all, it hadn’t been that long ago that Zeph had been on the receiving end of their father’s whip of leashed lightning. Only difference was, that power was Aeolus’s to wield. Eurus had no damn business possessing such a power, and when the others found out, all Hades would break loose.

Chrys needed more time to work this mess out. But his head was too clouded by how drained he was to be able to think everything through right now. Which meant he needed to get rid of his brother.

Clothing. He had to cover these wounds. He closed his eyes and willed on a long-sleeved shirt and pair of loose work-out pants. His vision went wiggly with the effort. And hell if the light pressure of the cotton wasn’t tormenting his injuries. Every small shift of the soft fabric felt like a cheese grater against his skin.

Blowing out a long breath, Chrys summoned every bit of energy he possessed and crossed the room to the ornate, golden doors. He flung one open and glared at the melee. “What. The fuck. Does a god have to do. To get some sleep in his own. Damn. House?”

Four sets of eyes turned on him. Their freeze-frame routine might’ve been comical if the door wasn’t all that was keeping him in a standing position.

“Chrysander.” Boreas broke the silence.

He dragged his gaze to his oldest brother. Deep concern poured from the winter god’s silver eyes. Above his long beard, his face was a ruddy red. Chrys sighed and pulled the door closed behind him, cutting off the flow of superheated air from the ceremonial hall. “You shouldn’t be here, B.”

“We are concerned about you.”

“I appreciate that. I do. But I just need to rest.”

“Bullshit,” Zeph bit out, blue eyes flaring.

Chrys glared at him. “While I appreciate the erudite assessment—”

“I’m calling bullshit on this whole situation. What the hell happened last night?”

Gods, he did not have the strength to deal with the agitation rolling off Zeph right now.

When Chrys didn’t answer, his brother continued. “You know what? Aphel, what were you going to show us?”

Chrys looked to the dark-haired god of the Southeast Wind. His shirt was partially unbuttoned, like he’d been in the middle of undressing when Chrys opened the door. Aphel dropped his gaze, and Chrys frowned.

Suspicion flooded Chrys’s gut. Jesus. And the hits just kept on coming, didn’t they? “Apheliotes, get inside,” he said, in case he was right. The minor god startled but moved right away, quickly disappearing through the doors to the hall. “Livos, make yourself scarce, you dig?”

The god nodded and dematerialized, leaving Chrys and his brother in a glaring showdown.

“Start talking,” Z said.

Fine. He’d tell them enough to make them go away. “I’m drained, okay? It took everything I had to manifest the clothes I’m wearing so I didn’t have to walk out here with my bare ass flapping in the breeze.”

“What is going on, Chrysander?” Boreas asked. “Why have you dragged out this thing with Eurus?”

“It’s three fucking weeks until his season,” Zeph interjected.

Like he needed the reminder. Chrys was acutely aware of the passage of time. If Eurus came into his powers while he possessed their father’s firestone ring, he would be nearly unstoppable. But if his brothers—or worse, the Olympians—found out that Aeolus had lost the ring and not confessed it, their father—and all of them, really—was likely to be in just as much trouble.

“Dude. I’m well aware of the calendar. I’ve been trying to reason with him, to bring him in voluntarily.”

“Why the hell bother? He’s dying one way or the other. Just kill him while you’re more powerful and put a stop to this,” Z said.

If only it were that easy
. “Because if he makes a good faith effort at cooperation, maybe we can get Mars to lower the sentence.”

Zeph’s face went bright red. “
That’s
what you’ve been doing? Trying to
save
him?”

Chrys held out a hand. “Think about it. No matter what, Eurus loses his position and one of his sons comes to power. Do we really want to pass this cluster fuck down to a new generation? If we kill Eurus, or if we don’t at least try to save him, all we’re doing is guaranteeing a new round of animosity between the East and the rest of us.” It was one of Chrys’s considerations, if not his main one.

“Chrysander may have a point,” Boreas said. “I had not thought of that, but it is true. Not to mention that another of his sons is now
your
heir, Zephyros. We must do what we can to cultivate Devlin’s and Alastor’s friendship and end this once and for all.”

Zeph tugged his hands through his hair. “Devlin’s a lost cause. Eurus’s influence on him has been too great. But either way, I’m telling you right now that the Olympians aren’t going to sit around and wait for us to make inroads with them. They’ve let the family handle this largely out of deference to Mars, but the decision is going to be taken from our hands. Then the shit’s gonna rain down on our heads, too, for not following their orders.”

“I know.” Exhausted, Chrys fell back against the door. The wounds on his back hit the hard surface and screamed agony through every cell. He grunted and closed his eyes.

“Shit. So this is why you refused the Acheron,” Z said.

Chrys nodded, breathing through the dizziness making it increasingly difficult to know which way was up. Finally, he lifted his gaze and looked from one brother to the other. “I just need some shut-eye. Twenty-four hours and I’ll get back out there.”

Boreas’s gaze narrowed. Chrys suddenly felt like maybe B could see through what Chrys wasn’t saying.

“Fine. Get your ass back to bed. And ask for some damn help next time.”

“No. I got this. You both have families to worry about now.” And Chrys was happy for them. He was. Despite his own loneliness. The string of random sex partners was fine for what it was, but didn’t leave him feeling connected to anyone.

“You are our family, too,” Boreas said. “And we are helping bring this matter to a close whether you like it or not.”

“Okay,” Chrys said. “Now get out of here before you melt all over my floor, would ya?”

Boreas grinned, winked, and disappeared.

“You, too,” he said to the remaining god.

“All right, little brother. But I haven’t forgotten how you were there for me when Aeolus dished out his punishment last spring. So know you can call on me for anything.”

Guilt at not sharing the whole story mixed with the nausea sloshing around in his gut, but all Chrys could do was nod. When Zeph finally left, he released a breath and lurched back into the hall. The heat shored him up enough to step in front of Aphel, who had dropped to a knee.

Suspecting his secret, Chrys reached down a hand to assist the other god to his feet. “Rise.”

Aphel’s eyes went wide, but he accepted the help.

“Let’s see whatever it is you were going to show them.”

“Yes, my lord.” He finished removing the shirt, dropped it to the floor, and gave Chrys his back.

“Almighty Zeus.” Layers of electrical lash marks flayed open the skin of the god’s back. “Eurus did this,” Chrys said.

The other god nodded.

“Why?”

“I discovered that he keeps Alastor imprisoned.”

“
What?
”

“He wishes to control him, to control the West once Alastor is installed as Supreme God. The boy is not well. I fear he is…tortured.”

Chrys’s mind struggled to keep up. “Devlin, too?”

“I don’t think so. He spends much of his time in his father’s employ.”

He needed time to process all of this. Pushing through the confusion threatening to take him to his knees, he returned to the altar and heaved himself on top. “We’re a fucking pair, aren’t we? You’ll stand watch in here. The heat will help.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Aphel rasped, dropping to a knee again.

“Aphel?” The god raised his gaze. “It’s good you told me, you dig?”

He nodded, then resumed his position kneeling before Chrys’s altar.

Chrys disappeared his clothes, giving the intense heat direct access to healing his body. Not that he’d ever be all the way healed. His body would close the wounds, but since they were inflicted by a stronger god, he had no way to heal the scars they would leave behind—whether the god that inflicted them should’ve been stronger or not.

Enough.

It was all he could do to lay there.

So he closed his eyes and prayed the gods were merciful, and that his dreams could find their way back into the arms of a certain human raven-haired beauty.

…

Those twenty-four hours stretched into seventy-two. Finally, Chrysander was restored enough to resume his search for Eurus—and fight him if he had to. He had about two and a half weeks to resolve this situation one way or the other, assuming the Olympians didn’t step in beforehand.

It wasn’t a safe assumption.

But, no matter where he searched, he couldn’t pick up a recent energy signature from Eurus. Not at the bridge. Not at Ella’s old house. Not at Owen’s place in Northern Virginia, which relieved him greatly.

Where could he—

Shit
. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? It would be just like Eurus.

Fear flooded Chrysander’s gut and sent him soaring through the dead of night to the woman’s farm. The woman who had tended his wounds. Who had shared her incredible warmth. Who he’d spent three solid days dreaming about until his body was convinced he knew every inch of hers.

If Eurus had gone looking for Chrys after their fight, the twelve hours he’d spent in her barn would’ve attracted him like a flare in the night.

Gods, if anything had happened to her because of him…

Under the cover of darkness, Chrys materialized into his corporeal form behind the building into which he’d crashed. Sweet-smelling, fresh-cut logs formed a long stack against the back wall. A huge stump marked the source of the wood, and a kernel of remorse shot through him—before Chrys had sought his rest, he’d sent Livos back to create a plausible reason for the damage to the structure. A felled tree had apparently been the god’s solution.

But that wasn’t the only—or the most important—thing he found. Without even entering the barn, Chrys could feel the resonance of Eurus’s energy. He’d been here. And he’d been here recently, judging by the strength of the signature. The woman was now on his brother’s radar.

And that was an exceedingly dangerous place for anyone to be. Ella was living proof of that.

Damnit it all to Hades.

Chrys made a quick sweep of the barn and the yard, his concern and his speed escalating, then circled the house. Eurus’s presence was strongest and most recent around the residence, a fact that shot rage and fear through Chrys’s veins in equal measure. Worst-case scenarios formed a macabre parade through his mind’s eye. Regret and guilt formed a bitter cocktail on his tongue, curdling his gut. Whatever tragedy he found here was his fault for leading Eurus to her door. He materialized in the living room.

The first thing he noticed was that Eurus had been inside, too.

The second was that a life force still existed within.
Laney’s
life force—after their night in the barn, he’d recognize it anywhere. Gods, she was still alive?